


A Peachy Life

by LWYRUP



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: Dating, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Slow Burn, Work In Progress, i have no idea what this is i'm so sorry, season 3 or something
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:25:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7931098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LWYRUP/pseuds/LWYRUP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>People were asking so here it is - the very first piece of trash i've written. Thankyou to Cinnabongene for entertaining and encouraging my trash fiction <3</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Are you serious?! You're seriously blaming me, Mr. White?” Jesse leers, “Nah, man. That's crazy, yo. I measured those chemicals perfectly.” He emphasises the syllables in 'perfectly', following an 'OK' hand gesture, pressing his index finger to his thumb.

 

Walt turns his head slightly sideways, as if astounded by what he was hearing. “How can you say that? The batch is ruined now because of you.” His voice echoes off the walls of the cliché office, “I was right, you can never trust a junkie.” The pained look on Jesse's face means Walt achieved what he hoped for, to once again, hurt Jesse.

 

“Calm down, Thelma and Louise. Look, I'm not your marriage counsellor, okay, but we can work this out,” Saul Goodman, their lawyer, assures in a raspy texture and a forced smile.

 

“No,” Walter sternly bit back. “All that methylamine… wasted, because of this idiot!” Walt raises his arm and points to the younger man in the seat adjacent to him on his right, without breaking eye contact with their attorney, as if his eye daggers are supposed to have weight to them.

 

Jesse rises from the seat displayed in front of Saul's desk. He isn't going to just sit there and take it. “No, no, it wasn't me, Mr. White, I swear!”

 

Jesse is sure he didn't screw up, and is willing to defend himself despite all means. With a firm grip of his fist balled in his own shirt and the other hand firmly on the arm of the chair, Jesse feels a ping of guilt for a crime he did not commit. The feeling is more common than often these days, and after months of it, it leaves a horrible taste in your mouth and scent on your skin. A sense of worthlessness.

 

“Oh, you swear?” Walt scoffs with an unamused smirk on his face. “Like how you swore you'd get clean? How about when you swore you'd show up to work on time? Yeah… right.” Walts attack ends with a humourless chuckle to further convey his point.

 

“I don't gotta listen to this, yo. I've been clean since rehab! How about.. you start treating me... with respect,” he speaks slowly and clearly, his face heating up and **pink** ening his cheeks before walking toward the door.

 

“Hey, tiger, how's about you come sit back down and take a chill pill? 'Cause I have some xanax if you need one, kid.” Saul stands from his seat and gestures to his desk drawer – an offering to make Jesse stay. Even for a shyster, these two will make him go _completely_ bald prematurely.

 

“No, I'm done with this asshole 'til he treats me like his partner instead of his bitch…… Bitch!” Jesse barges through the exit door, which is the last Walt sees of him for the day. The sudden quietness permeates the air – a calm before the storm.

 

“Well, I don't know about you, but that went well…,” Saul spits sarcastically. His brows raise in contemplation before sitting back in his office chair.

 

“Don't offer any pills to him,” Walt instructs. “He's using again, that's why he screwed up.”

 

The bald mans insistent ploy makes Saul uneasy. “Okay, so I'll see you when he sorts things out, I guess.” He walks around his desk and stands by the door, asserting the end of their little meeting. Walt turns, still sitting in the chair, with something on the tip of his tongue – displaying that face which signals he's thinking about something no **good**.

 

“Saul,” Walt began. “I know it's a lot to ask, but can you watch him?”

 

“Wha–” The suited mans mouth falls open and brows raise right up to his hairline, creating horizontal lines that read shock.

 

“Or–,” Walt cuts him off early. “Or hire someone to watch him. I worry that he might..,” his exaggerated hand gesture sums up his request. “You know… It's a Saturday, god knows what he'll get up to.”

 

Saul blinks dramatically, mouth slightly agape, reassuring himself this is reality. “Ohhhh, so you want me to keep tabs on ol' Girl Interrupted so he doesn't take too big of a hit?” He gestures his thumb over his shoulder, as if Jesse was somewhere off in the distance. The annoyance is sarcastically clear in his tone, and his face even more so.

 

Walt rises slowly from the seat, and paces to the door. “All I'm saying is…… I pay you too much.. to do not much of anything.” His lack of personal space makes Saul uncomfortable, the gulp evident in his throat.

Walt turns and walks out, leaving Saul to his own next thought of action.

  

* * *

  

With the thermometer continuing to swell into the late afternoon, Saul shrugs off his almost reflective grey suit jacket, exposing a sickly artificial colour that probably doesn't have a name. He rummages the inside pocket to reveal his current mobile – a neon **pink** flip phone that looks like it belongs to a teenage girl in the mid 00's. He neatly folds the garment and gently places it on his desk. With the press of a few buttons on the keypad, Saul holds the device up to his ear, waiting for an answer. No dice. Re-dial.

 

“Whaattt?” An annoyed and dragged out tone of voice speaks from the other end of the line.

 

“Jesse, where are you?” Concern bled from Saul's throat.

 

“Why should I tell _you_?” Jesse sounds very monotonous, still upset from earlier. The way he says it makes Saul feel so goddamn unimportant, causing the corners of his mouth to downturn.

 

“Why? Because I'm your lawyer, and I'm worried, that's why.” Saul bites his knuckle, awaiting his reaction. Silence came from the other end of the line, but he waits another half a minute.

 

“Jesse, c'mon!” His solicitude wasn't fake as he shouts into the phone, his voice now hoarse.

 

“I'm parked a few blocks down.” Jesse's voice is low, almost a whisper with a slight choke, and it takes a few seconds for Saul to fully understand what he said.

 

“I'll be right there, buddy, just…. stay there.” He flips the phone shut, carelessly jamming it in his pants pocket, before basically yelling for Francesca to cancel his appointments for the day while fleeing out the front door. Saul doesn't know why he cares so much. He tries to come up with logical reasons while he walks fast-paced to where Jesse had said he parked.

 

Maybe because he was so young. Saul's always has a soft spot for kids. ' _He_ _'s_ _like,_ _what,_ _2_ _5_ _or something?_ _…that_ _'_ _s still young_ ', he rationalises.… Maybe he just wants to get paid. Or maybe because he feels bad for all the proverbial shit Walt drags him through. God, that manipulating bastard can tear him down without messing a hair on his own bald head. Saul doesn't know the exact reason why. Some people just need a break every once in a while, a shoulder to lean on, someone to care. He wouldn't be where he is today if someone didn't help pull him out of the deep end when he was the young and scampy Slippin' Jimmy.

 

Saul rounds the corner of an infrequently used backstreet and immediately spots Jesse's red Toyota Tercel. Thankfully, Jesse's still in it and the engine is cut. Saul notices him peak up as he crosses the front of the vehicle. The passenger side door shudders an awful sound as Saul opens it, gets in, and proceeds to slam it shut.

 

A trail of smoke flitters from the end of Jesse's cigarette, fading into nothing as it disperses through the air. His face is pressed up against the side of the door, showing no intention of moving from that position to acknowledge Saul's presence. Without speaking, he holds up his pack of smokes and offers one to Saul.

 

“Thanks, buddy..,” he whispers low and quietly, as if any immediate loud noise would spook the silent man. His voice is soaked with pity as he accept one.

 

The two men both sit in silence, sharing the timespan of a cigarette with each other before Saul shifts in his seat to throw the butt out the window. He dares to break the quiet hum of distant cars, “You wanna get a beer?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People were asking so here it is - the very first piece of trash i've written. Thankyou to Cinnabongene for entertaining and encouraging my trash fiction <3


	2. Chapter 2

“I didn't know you smoked.” The younger man holds his beverage close to his person, his limbs seem to shake very lightly, and unnoticeably.

 

“You never asked.” Saul loosens his tie around his neck, unbuttoning the top button. Jesse watches intently as he fingers about the colour-saturated fabric. “To think of it, you don't know much about me. I guess it's one-sided like that.” The brunette sips at his beer.

 

The bar is dimly lit, with faint, unidentifiable music filling any silence. The walls are decorated with cheesy licence plates and route 99 signs on a backdrop of palm tree wallpaper. **Pink** neon light reflects off both of their figures, accentuating fine lines and bumps of their facial structure. The colour illuminates through Jesse's irises, and Saul swears they were a peach **pink**. Tucked away in the corner of the bar, away from most other people, Jesse looks up in puzzlement. “What do you mean?” He leans slightly forward awaiting Saul's response.

 

“Well, uh–, before this whole business deal was sealed, I wanted to make sure I wasn't getting played by a couple of bozo's,” he explains, averting his gaze anywhere but Jesse.  
“Just a safety thing, Pinkman, no need to worry.”

 

“Wait, so you, like, know shit about me? Like..,” Jesse ducks his head a bit, his voice lowering, “..personal shit?”

 

“Uhhm..., I guess?” It's not that big of a deal to Saul, he's just careful in that way, but Jesse seems put off by the idea. “Listen, kid, it's just a security precaution. I am a lawyer after all, I try to stay out of shenanigans… so to speak.”

 

Jesse's eyes are squinted slightly, highlighting his concentration of the subject matter, before relaxing into something more default. He sits back in his seat with a sigh, relieving the tension present in the booth. Chasing his beer with a draw of his cigarette, he huffs, “So, whaddaya know about me? Anything **good**?” A plume of smoke fills the space between them as the song changes to a soft rock cover: _Iggy Pop - The Passenger_.

 

“I didn't dig into your family heritage, if that's what you're asking. I was mainly making sure you weren't a cop.” Saul's voice is rougher than usual from the alcohol in his throat and stagnant film of smoke in the air.

 

They order another round of Old Style, which turns into shots of tequila and an interesting conversation two hours later.

 

* * *

 

 “Oh, so you've never thought about it!?” Jesse jokes, a mischievous grin is plastered on his face. A small collection of bottles gather at the end of the table and the ashtray is full to the brim with both Jesse's and Saul's cigarette butts and ash.

 

“Hey, I've been married twice, pal. Any ass play was performed on _them._ ” Saul's normally pasty Irish skin shaded a light **pink** rose in his cheeks. He usually doesn't talk about this stuff, but they _are_ tipsy. “I didn't know you were gay.” His expression straightens up, not sure the force of his statement.

 

A wide, toothy smile cracks across Jesse's face, lighting the glow in his eyes anew. “You never asked.”

 

There is a momentary silence between them, which made Saul have a small catch in his throat, as if he was contemplating saying something. His concentration is soon broken as the bartender calls out the last rounds, forcing the pair to become aware of the time again. It was getting quite late.

 

“Yo, I'm not actually gay,” the blonde man spoke before tipping up his shotglass and downing the the clear liquid. “I'm not anything.” He taps the table with his finger, an unspoken gesture for their last drink. Saul agrees.

 

* * *

 

 The rest of their drink is more or less quiet, which makes Jesse feel slightly odd about what he admitted to his lawyer, as if his lack of sexual boundaries would make the man think less of him. Upon barging through the exit door and waving off the bartender he just paid a few hundred dollar bills to, Saul realises they are the last ones to leave. His car is still at his office, along with his keys and jacket, leaving him shivering in the parking lot as icy air cuts across his cheek. This basically smacks him sober as they walk to Jesse's beat up car.

 

“You want me to drive you to your car?” His words are slightly slurred and smell of a mixture of booze and ashtrays.

 

Saul stops walking and hides his face with both hands. “The keys are locked in my office. I couldn't drive if I wanted to.” A long and agitated sigh leaves the brunettes throat. “Don't worry, I'll get them tomorrow when my receptionist opens up.” They reach the car and stand facing each other.

 

“So, what? Your house is all, like, locked and shit?” Jesse's speech continues to be muffled with drunkenness, which catches Saul's attention.

 

“Yeah, but I have a key hidden in my front garden for situations just like this. It pays to be prepared, princess. I'll drive.” Jesse surrenders the keys as he's obviously the less sober of the two. Less than twenty minutes later they both arrive at Saul's apartment. Before Saul could even shut off the motor and get out, Jesse opens the passenger door and pukes in the driveway.

 

“Jesus Christ!” Saul exits the vehicle quickly and runs to other side of the car. Jesse's frame feels light as Saul lifts him from under his arms, helping him out of the seat and into the fresh air and the light of the street. He leans against the side of the car for stability.

 

“ **Good** god, it's all down your shirt. It's like the exorcist projectile scene!” Jesse lifts his hanging head and flashes Saul an exasperated expression, clearly not in the mood for his witty pop-referencing sense of humour. “Come inside, I'm not letting you drive.”

 

He puts one of Jesse's arm around his neck as he slides his arm around his back. Saul notices the warmth of the other man while directing him to the door of his complex. He's thankful for it, because being outside at night in desert terrain is a death sentence. After an extended period of trying to help him up the flights of stairs, they both finally reach Saul's floor – the top floor, obviously. That damn elevator hasn't worked for a week, and Saul's leg game is feeling strong because of it. Jesse plonks down and sits against the wall adjacent to the door.

 

“Damn it!” the suited man barks. “I'll be right back.” Before Jesse can comprehend what the other man even said, Saul is running down the hall back to the stairwell.

 

“Yo, what'sss goidngn onnn?” His muffled voice goes unheard. Saul returns five minutes later with something in his hand. “What the fuuuck, man?” Jesse spat.

 

“I forgot to get the key from the garden, Sir Lancelot. I was too busy carrying your ass,” he states plainly with one side of his mouth pulled tight across his face, unamused.

 

The intoxicated man starts sliding sideways from his sitting position to lay on the floor as Saul unlocks the door. “Yoouu wisshhhhh you could have my sweet assss,” he slurs, followed by a giggle and a hiccup, which slightly echoes off the empty hall.

 

Saul is basically sober now, he's built a tolerance over the years, however, the younger man clearly cannot handle as much liquor. With a side smirk and a roll of the eyes, he helps Jesse up and aids him inside.

“Wait here,” Saul instructs, as he runs off into a dark room of the apartment, leaving Jesse to lean up against the kitchen island. He emerges a quick second later, presenting a clean t-shirt. Jesse shrugs off his hoodie and reluctantly peels off his foul smelling, damp shirt and dumps it in Saul's kitchen sink.

 

“Charming.” Saul scrunches his nose at the wet sound, or the smell.

 

Saul's nauseated expression drops to widened eyes and a general sense of mild shock. He cannot look away from Jesse's unclothed torso. _God, he's so skinny._ Saul is not sure if it's drugs or lack of a decent diet, but he feels bad he allowed Jesse to drink so much, and without food. Jesse slings the shirt on, grabbing Saul's attention once more, as the fabric basically hangs off the other man's bones – the size obviously being too big for him. Saul assists him to the living room.

 

Jesse slumps down into the couch, basically melting into the soft Egyptian cotton pillows as Saul pants from the workout of lifting him before. Instinctively going to the kitchen, he pours Jesse glass of water. The more than tipsy man gratuitously accepts as he holds his arm out and offers the drink.

 

Awkwardly standing by the couch rubbing his hands together in worry, the more collected man speaks, “I think you shouldn't drive tonight. What if you…” He clears his throat of desert sand and awkward tension. “I only have one bed, so..” Saul rubs the back of his neck out of reflex, feeling sorry for the indecent sleeping arrangement.

 

“Yeah, yeahh, this is fine. Right here.” Lifting his head from the embrace of the cushions, he sips at the glass and coughs down the taste of vomit. Jesse is obviously comfortable, and too drunk realise he's laying on the TV remote. Saul notices as he takes the glass from him, and digs the remote from behind his back, placing them both on the coffee table.

 

“I'll keep a lamp on for ya,” Saul says, as he rubs his hands together. “It's not very bright but it saved me a **good** half-dozen falls.” The single white leather recliner makes a quiet squeaking sound as the weight of his body surrenders.

 

With his head turning to Saul, Jesse began, “Yo, tell me……... about you. You know shit about me, it's only fair, maann.”

 

“' _Personal shit_ '?”

 

“Mmh-hm,” he hiccups.

 

“Not much to tell, really,” Saul pledges.

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“Uhh, w–,” Saul coughs a rusty 'ahem' and tightens his lips into a straight line. “Well, my parents are both dead and I have a brother. He was such a fucking prick, too. That's about it... Was married. Twice. Who knows, maybe third time's the charm,” he jokes with a wry laugh as he spreads his hands.

 

“Maybe...” Jesse shifts his position to something more upright. “I had a girlfriend.” While watching a drop of water roll down the side of his glass, he clears the catch in his throat. “Jane.”

 

“I remember.”

 

Dim light highlights Jesse's pale and slender arm as he reaches for his drink. It's a quiet moment between them – even the swallows and gulps of the water are audible. A **pink** tongue glides across his lips, lapping at the droplets, as the drink relieves his acidic throat. Saul watches in earnest. Jesse clutches the beverage, holding it close to himself, like he has done before in times of emotional or physical distress, as if he could hide behind it. He feels his eyes sting slightly as they well up – his body shuddering as the first drop trembles from his glass eyes and down his paper skin. The apartment echoes the vibrations of a wheezing cry as Jesse's body quakes in his seat.

 

 _Oh, shit_. Saul doesn't know what to do. Mainly because he hasn't seriously dealt with other people's emotions in a while without taking a stab at whoever and joking about it. He slowly ascends from his seat and sits by Jesse's right, reaching an arm around his back, pulling him into his side for comfort. The vulnerable man hides his face into Saul's lower chest, still sobbing an open-mouth silent wail and occasional indistinct words. Saul's uncomfortable, which is an understatement indefinitely, but with a few firm pats on the arm and a few more hushes and _hang in there_ 's, Jesse quiets down into a whimper.

 

“You okay, kid?” Saul's eyes seek Jesse's as an indicator. “Any more fluids come outta you and you'll be sleeping on a towel.” He pulls a tight smile, trying to lighten situation, but also exercising caution.

 

A sharp inhale raises Jesse's chest, and Saul can feel it. “Yeah, just a uh–… brief moment of weakness. I'm fine.” His nose is blocked and cheeks a rosy **pink**. Saul does not at all think it's cute. Nuh uh.

 

With a few more deep breaths, his own hands carding through his hair, and hand running down his face to wipe any tears, Jesse realises that Saul is still holding him. He doesn't mind it, really, but he speaks up. “Saul?”

 

“Huh? Oh, oh, sorry. Was getting all paternal there, I guess.” He plays it off, letting go of the smaller man. “I'm gonna hit the shower, I'm freezing my tits off. You gonna be okay while I'm gone?” The slight embarrassment warrants his escape.

 

“I will be.” Calm after the storm.

 

Saul squeezes his shoulder a little longer than he should, and leaves Jesse's side – trailing down the hallway and taking a left turn into what is seemingly the bathroom. With clothes dropped carelessly on the cold tile, he strips down and steps in the overly large shower cubicle.

 

While steaming water runs down his back, Saul stands motionless, leaning one arm against the detailed mosaic wall, looking to the floor lost in thought.

 

 _Walt said to watch him, not get_ _hammered_ _with_ _the guy_ _and invite him into your home,_ _Jesus!_

 

Twenty minutes later, he shuts off the water and wraps a towel around his **pink** ened skin before walking to his bedroom. Saul dries off and throws on a grey shirt and boxers, and promptly heads for his unattended guest.

 

“Jesse?” He stands by the couch. “You still awake?” Saul's question is left unanswered as Jesse's asleep sitting upright. With pursed lips, he paces back to his bedroom. The linen closet is filled with a mix of grey-scale colours, contrasting to his usual dress attire. After shuffling through a range of options, he pulls out a thick black and white chequered blanket and returns to the living room. Jesse is out like a light, and doesn't feel when Saul tugs his shoes off and carefully lies him down.

 

“The things I do…,” he whispers, as he opens up the folded blanket and covers Jesse, tucking it tight around his figure. “ **Good** night, Jesse.” Saul takes a second to smile at the sleeping trainwreck on his couch, his _expensive couch._ This thought triggers him to fetch a bowl or a bucket or _something_ in case his guest is sick again.

 

After successfully finding a large mixing jug and placing it on the floor next to the sleeping man, he drags himself to the kitchen, tiredness weighing down his limbs. Saul's hand hovers over his landline home-phone for a few seconds, almost hesitantly. He punches in some numbers and waits, glancing over his shoulder to Jesse asleep in the other room. With a sigh and an unamused side-smirk, he dials the number. It picks up the fourth ring.

 

“Huell, I got a job for you.”


	3. Chapter 3

It's a Sunday evening, extremely slow. Water bubbling from the dispenser type of slow. Saul had left Jesse asleep on his couch when he left in the morning, and hadn't heard from him since.

 

Saul's at his desk as per usual, shuffling through papers, signing the bottom of pages, and finishing up with a shitty summary assault case. He doesn't even know why he bothers opening on Sundays sometimes... A soft knock at his door broke his trance of blurred never-ending sentences.

 

“Yeah?” he coos, but to no avail, there's no answer at the door. “What is it?” he calls out, raising his voice in an almost methodical tone. The overly wide door inches open to reveal Huell, slowly making his way in, taking small, unsure steps.

 

“Job's done, boss. Just like you said,” Huell asserts.

 

“Excellent,” Saul chimes back, raising his hands like he's about to sing kum ba yah. “Any problems?” he bids.

 

“No, all went as expected,” the heavy fellow retorts.

 

“Great. Also, my driveway thanks Kuby, tell 'im **good** job for me, will ya? That'll be all for today,” Saul meows. Huell turns to face the door. “Remind me to give you a raise,” he adds, a smirk displayed on his face.

 

Huell leaves, resulting in Saul sliding his laptop from the centre of the desk to the left of him. He opens it, and clicks open the video software icon on the desktop. He rubs his eyes and draws his hand over his face down past his chin as the spinning cursor loads the application. It loads with time, and Saul tries to pay attention as he scrolls through the options: Cam1, Cam2, Cam3, ..4….5, and audio settings. Thumbing around the mouse for a second, he closes the laptop, ending his motivation for the day with a yawn perched under his chin and a stretch of his arms and legs. The brunette packs up his personal items, and heads for the waiting room to clock out.

 

“Frannie, you wanna catch a movie? I hear a Shakespeare thing is playing at 9,” Saul plays.

 

“I'd love to, Romeo. Let me just get my poison and a gun first,” Francesca bites back monotonously as she slings her handbag over her shoulder.

 

“Ouch! You just missed out on some free popcorn, baby,” Saul chimes back.

 

Francesca flashes an exasperated look, and asks “So, you gonna tell me why your car has been here for two days straight? That taxi looked almost _middle class_ , Saul.”

 

“I told you not to ask about it.” That shut him up.

 

Tugging at the door to ensure its locked, he exits the stripmall establishment and farewells Fran with a lewd **good** night. The blistering Albuquerque sun made way into a glacial night, which sears **pink** blotches into Saul's skin; resulting in him blasting the heater in his pearl white 1997 Cadillac DeVille. The drive home to his apartment is unusually fast, landing him in the driveway at 8:41pm. Before entering his complex, Saul paws at his suit jackets inside pocket, shuffling to find his mobile. The screen flashes to life as he stands in his driveway. It's a very one-sided call.

 

“Yeah, I'm keeping an eye on ol' Will Graham until you can get him a new psychiatrist.” Saul's voice is gravely, sounding like a rusty chain being dragged down a dirt road. “Trust me, with my A-team on it, the kid's gonna have to sell his dear late aunts house if he wants to live the crystal palace low-life.”

 

Walt says very little in the conversation, but concludes with a very sufficient “ **Good** ”.

 

Saul lowers the phone to sight, and thumbs at the keypad once more. The recipient answers on the second ring. “Hey, Napoleon, how was the adventure?”

 

“What?”

 

“Just checking in. How ya feelin'?”

 

A sigh came from the phone's speakers. “Uggh, y'know… like shit.” Saul let out a low chuckle at Jesse's response. “Yeah, a little like expired soggy milk left in the cereal bowl a little too long. And don't laugh, asshole. Just because you're an old prick.”

 

Saul isn't sure of the tone in Jesse's voice, so he decides to lighten it himself. “Uhh.., descriptive, but I'll say! You went head-spinning, green chunks and all, outside my house. I'm standing in said spot as we speak!” Saul shouts in a comedic tone. “And hey, not old, _experienced_.”

 

“Huh, no kiddin'. So that's what that taste was,” he sniffs, as if it's still lingering on his tongue. “And yo, that's not what you said last night… about the ass thing. Experienced _my ass_!” Jesse thinks the pun is clever, but it went overlooked.

 

“You remember that?” Saul wasn't expecting him to recall much.

 

“That's about all I remember up until that point.”

 

There's a momentary half a minute where nothing is said between them. _Did Jesse forget about the_ _vomiting? What about_ _whole sexuality thing?_ _That was before. And t_ _he crying?_ Saul's mind is everywhere at once.

 

“Hey, uhh– thanks,…. Saul.” You can almost hear the sad smile in his voice.

 

A soft simper bends the corners of Saul's lips. “Don't mention it, kid.”


	4. Chapter 4

In need of a desperate top-up, Saul stops by Loyola's over on Central for some coffee before work. ' _This place has seen better days_ ' he ponders to himself, as he trudges back to his car in the already 90 degree heat. Upon arriving, he greets Huell and Francesca, and waves in only the first of his many clients on this Monday morning.

 

* * *

 

 _Lunch time_ , Saul realises. He presses the button on his desk, “Frannie, hold my calls, will ya?” His shoes make a thudding sound falling to the floor, “Oh, and can you order that masseuse for Wednesday? Hump-day gives my back an aching hump.”

 

“The one on Broadway or an actual hooker?” she plainly questions.

 

“Jesus, Fran, I–” The startled man is cut off short buy his receptionists unamused tone.

 

“You said 'hump' twice, Saul. I thought you meant hooker. I'll make a note of it.”

 

“Wh… How does– mmmh...” Sinking back into his swivel chair and sighing, he opens his laptop where he left it the night before.

 

Cam1, external front door. Cam2: living room…. And so on. All parts of the house depict no sign of life, only sparse furniture and a bong on Jesse's coffee table, which makes Saul pull his lips into a tight line, until he clicks Cam5: bedroom.

 

“Woah, woah. No, no, no, no… Absolutely _not_!” Saul chokes, immediately averting his eyes from the screen, staring at nothing in particular on the far wall of his office. He only caught sight of it for a split second, but it's enough to throw the lawyer completely off-guard.

 

With a sharp increase in heart rate, Saul realises what he just unwittingly saw: Jesse Pinkman, sitting at the end of his oddly nicely made bed, baggy pants, belt and boxers bunched at his ankles, jerking off. “For gods sake, kid, _really_!?” he clamours to himself.

 

Saul is gobsmacked by Jesse's current….actions. Not because of _what he_ _is_ _doing_ , exactly, but because _he_ is the one to see it. Because he has a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach from what he just witnessed. I mean, it _is_ Jesse's house, and the guy's gotta do it _somewhere_. Better in his room than a Starbucks or something. Saul reluctantly closes his eyes, turns his head back to the screen, and opens them. 'LIVE STREAM' is displayed in the top right-hand corner of the window.

 

The amount of awkwardness and embarrassment Saul feels cannot be scaled. _And he's not even the one on camera_. A wave of discomfort and confusion vibrates down Saul's spine, sending a cold spike of mild distress reverberating down to the soles of his feet, still in socks, rebounding back up to his groin.

 

Not many people are aware of it, but Saul isn't the straightest bullet to leave the gun barrel, so to speak. His colourful clothes do reflect a small part of him in that sense, but everyone just chalks it down to him being a flashy lawyer. Because it mostly is. He is still very much attracted to women, nevertheless, he hasn't had much sexual action with men since his Cicero days. And god, does that feel like a lifetime ago.

 

Despite his daze and unease on the whole situation, a strange sense of relief immerses Saul, knowing that his business colleague… his.. friend.. was safe at home, at least, and not dead in a ditch or beat up by some hyped-up meth head. He'd much rather Jesse _beating it_ than getting beat up.

 

The older man rests his index finger on his lips and chin, as if in deep thought, contemplating his next immediate actions. He taps about his desk with his fingertips for a minute, and decides to continue watching, unsure as to why he wants to watch a client, _this particilar client_ , go at it in his bedroom. Unsure why he wants to see Jesse Pinkman's ' _ **pink**_ _man_ '. Him, of all people?

 

Saul ghosts his now overly-warm palm over the obvious bulge in his trousers, unable to ignore the mild sense of excitement any longer. Upon de-anchoring his office chair, he adjusts his sitting position and gets comfortable. Without breaking eye contact with the sight on the screen, he slowly undoes his suit pants, fiddling with the belt and fumbling with the zip like an inexperienced virgin.

 

His overly slow and tedious actions were as if there were an alligator in the room, and reflexes kicked in to cautiously move at a prolonged rate, but not averting eyes, either. Saul shuffles his pants just far enough that he can… _access_ himself, but also with the added security of being able to quickly cover up if someone were to walk in unannounced. He inches his briefs down to reveal a semi-hard member. Thank god Saul's office doesn't have cameras. With his clients, and his habits, he'd be doomed if he did.

 

With light strokes, he runs the fingers of his right hand along the growing length of his dick. No logical thought is present in Saul's head at this moment, only the reoccurring thought of ' _Gosh, what am I, a horny_ _teenager_ _?_ '. But this thought isn't strong enough to hinder his little self-serving session. He likes this too much.

 

Sure, he's masturbated in his own office before, but it's been a long while as stress and work have taken over his life… and with Walt and all his bullshit, god. Even his own personal downtime at home doesn't cater to his urges. He hasn't been in the ballpark for a while, if you catch my drift.

 

The soft brushing soon turns to a rhythmic rotation of the wrist, working the shaft as hisdick reaches full length. With a pounding heart rate and a small bead of sweat accumulating on his forehead, Saul tries to hold back any form of frantic or heavy breathing, forcing a calm 'in the nose, out the mouth' type of method, resulting in his chest hitching.

 

You know that feeling when you run up a flight of stairs, and have to play it cool when you reach the top, despite being completely suffocated from the lack of oxygen? That's the type of situation that Saul is dealing with, worried that someone would be able to hear gasps if he gave his body the air it desperately needs.

 

 _'_ _Jesus,_ _he's_ _really got it in him_ _'_ _,_ he thinks to himself, despite his thought process completely overwhelmed with sensory information. The lack of oxygen increases Saul's heart rate and blood flow, almost pushing him to his capable limits. Unintentional erotic asphyxiation. He realises he strangely likes it.

 

“Not yet…,” he breathes, finally exhaling, as he slows his actions to an almost halt. Saul wants to stretch this out for one more minute. He wants to revel in this moment for just a little longer. The skin of his knuckles turn white while gripping the edge of the desk for stability as he straightens his posture. The audio. Saul wants to turn on the audio. _Shit, where the fu-…_ His earphones are in his car. Goddammit.

 

Saul is seriously contemplating calling Francesca to fetch them, but he doesn't want to have to explain his odd behaviour. Not that he would have to.

 

However, the thought of getting caught in his office while jacking it kinda excites Saul, 'cause yeah, maybe he has a slight office kink. I mean, he's in an office every day, and it's hard to not let your mind wander. It's not like he thinks about Jesse, in particular, _ever_ , but plowing someone against his constitution wallpaper has always been a dirty thought in the back of his mind.

 

Wait. Waaaiit wait wait wait. ' _What_ _am_ _I_ _doing!?_ ' Saul snaps out of his fantasy. He is touching himself to the sight of someone touching himself. _Jesse_ of all people. _A drug dealing meth cook of all people._ With a dangerous and power-controlling partner. The mere thought of it enables Saul to _evaluate_ himself. ' _Get a grip,_ ' he urges in thought, ' _Just watch regular porn like a regular person, jesus.'_

 

The whole thing is over before it started; Saul has changed his mind of the matter in under two minutes. He can't do it, not without Jesse knowing… _or consenting._ That's just sick.

 

Saul hastily fixes his clothes and adjusts the accessories he likes to wear upon the epiphany of his recent WhatTheFuck™ moment of sex-starved pure desperation. Lunging for his cell, he doesn't think twice when speed-dialling Jesse. Before he can even comprehend his actions and let his brain catch up with him, Saul watches on with anticipation at the screen displaying Jesse's natural habitat. His eyebrows raise as he watches Jesse ignore his call. He wasn't exactly… _finished_ with what he was doing, mind you. Re-dial.

 

The pixelated screen illustrates a young Mr. Pinkman reach for his cell, holding it up to the side of his face, and slowly falling back on his bed keeping himself propped with his elbow.

 

Deeps breaths are the first thing Saul hears from the phone, considering what he just interrupted… It makes him feel guilty. And horny. And guiltier.

 

“What?” Jesse manages.

 

“Hey, bud. What's with the breathing, you running from walkers or something?” Saul laughs, playing it off.

 

“Uhh, no, I was just, uh... moving some boxes in the basement… I didn't hear your first call.” The lie sounds almost believable, and he would have believed it, if he didn't know the reality of the situation. He's never really been one for big morals, but something about spying on Jesse is really unsettling to Saul. Like he needs to ask for permission to spy. It's crazy. He's never felt bad about it before. But in saying that, he's never unwittingly seen the sight on someone else's personal time before either.

 

“Yeah, no worries. Was uhhh–,” he clears his throat. “Just wondering if you'd be up for a drink tonight?” Oh no, that sounds like a date. “Maybe a burger, fries, a shake to complete the illusion,” _What illusion, god dammit Saul shut up!_ “If you're interested? Bill's on me, of course.” _What was that!?_ Saul hopes that Jesse doesn't catch the desperate tone in his voice. Lucky, Jesse's oblivious, and accepts the offer of kindness.

 

“Nine sound okay?” Saul is hesitant. He's actually worried about this, unlike the other night, which was so carelessly friend-based on his part. Now it's different. He's seen him. And he just knows his mind will entertain that idea the whole time.

 

He watches as Jesse gets up off the bed and stands in the middle of the room. He takes a few seconds to reply, which seems like the longest seconds in history for Saul, _even longer than microwave seconds_.

 

“Yeah,” Jesse inhales deeply. “I'll uhh- see you then.”

 

The call ends, and _what the_ _hell_ _was that, Saul, seriously!?_ He blinks twice, and is confused, surprised, shocked, _something_ , to see Jesse fist-pump in the air on the screen. ' _Is that a_ _ **good**_ _thing_?' he ponders to himself, zooming in on the gesture. He runs his tongue across his teeth, making a whistling chirp sound as he clicks on the audio. Before he could hear anything, Jesse leaves the room and enters the bathroom – one of the many rooms that doesn't have a cam and a bug. An irritated but comedic confusion engulfs Saul, not knowing what just happened.

 

A half-smile spreads on his face, but vanishesinstantly as he forcefully slams the laptop shut.Fearing he might've cracked the laptop case, an awful noise of the plastic echoes off his sandy coloured walls. Saul swivels his chair to face the back wall, away from his desk, his laptop, as if it would disappear if he doesn't see it. Outta sight, outta mind, right?

 

Jesse and he were strictly business before today, and Saul fears he might have screwed that up. Being strictly business means professional privileges, but that now feels compromised. He continues the rest of his confusing day with a sickly regret and general sense of self-disgust perched high up on his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate everything about this chapter and what i've chosen to be, here u go. (-:


	5. Chapter 5

Albuquerque's sky quickly shifts from a peachy **pink** to beautiful indigo purple tone upon Monday's nightfall. _Hamlindigo_ , one might even say...With his feel up on his desk, Saul plays a game of solitaire on his phone while waiting on quittin' time. His phone buzzes in his hand, promptly opening the message.

 

Message received, 8:13 PM.

**can u pick me up? car wont start**

 

Saul straightens in his seat, moving his legs to the ground. A twinkle dares to quiver his lips in a quirky smile as he feels a strange coil in his stomach.

 

 **L** **eaving in** **5.**

 

Saul questions to send a smiley face, but decides against it. Luckily his waiting room is dead-empty, because Saul leaves fifteen minutes early to ' _fight the traffic_ ', or so he tells Francesca. There isn't much traffic.

 

Upon arriving, he pulls up to the curb and cuts the engine. While walking up the path to the front door, the lawyer notices Jesse's car to the side of the house in the shadows with a few parts detached and on the ground. A raised eye brow and a shake of the head leaves him standing mid-way in the yard. Saul shifts his gaze to the door just as Jesse opens it. With a movement of his arm, he ushers him inside, out of the cold.

 

“Still a minimalist, I see,” Saul toys; chuckling lightly as he notices the distantly scattered furniture. “How's that cactus I got you a while back? You didn't kill it, did you? I'd be actually shocked.” He turns to face Jesse, realising the younger mans attire. Clean shave, hair all did, and a casual powder blue button down with jeans. Still a little baggy, but nicer than the usual. Saul decides against commenting on it specifically, and just notes with “Hey, kid, you look **good** ,” while spreading his arms in an approving gesture. Mr. FingerGuns.

 

He tries to keep his cool and composed outer appearance, but in his mind, Saul is awkwardly tapping his outer thighs with the tips of his fingers. Saul's dressed in the usual tonight. A vomit yellow shirt with a dark charcoal grey suit. _And still with that stupid_ _Wayfarer_ _ribbon._ Jesse eye-rolls.

 

“No, bitch. It's not dead,” he grins. “It's upstairs, I'll show you.” Saul follows him through the familiar house, noticing the bong missing as he crosses the living room. “And thanks,” Jesse adds with a smile, before starting up the stairs. His smile, the **pink** ness of his lips rattles the butterflies in Saul's ribcage. They both reach the bedroom, and Jesse breezes in, but the brunette stops in his tracks at the doorway, feeling cautious in this known environment. Saul's throat tightens as he takes one step in the door. Seeing it in person makes him feel uneasy. It looks exactly the same. _Except_ ….

 

“Saul?”

 

The idle man snaps out of his trance and whirls his gaze toward the source of noise. Jesse gestures to his nightstand, pointing out the displayed, and _very much alive_ , cactus.

 

“Yo, at least it's off the floor now,” he admits with a crooked, unsure smile. Jesse can sense Saul is distracted by something. He can feel the change of mood since he entered the room. “You okay?”

 

“Huh? Uh, yeah, of course! I'm peachy. Why wouldn't I be?” Saul enters completely, and walks to the middle of the room. _That spot_ , right where Jesse _was_ , and looks to the corner of the ceiling. _At least they did a_ _ **good**_ _job in hiding the damn thing_ s.

 

A smile cracks his skin apart as he glances down at the plant. “You keep it next to your bed? Why?” he laughs roughly.

 

“Why not?” Jesse's right eyebrow perks up, inquisitive.

 

“I wouldn't want to think it's the alarm clock one morning by accident, kid.”

 

“Shut up, I like it there, 'kay?” Jesse pulls a tight smile, cheekily, almost sarcastically. “Besides, I don't own one of those.”

 

Saul exhales. “Shall we go?”

 

They make their way down stairs;Saul waits by the front door as Jesse gets his personal items and shuts off the lights. With a quick jiggle of the doorknob to check its security, they make their way down the path to the caddy.

 

“What happened to your car?” the lawyer asks, once again noticing the parts scattered on the yard.

 

“I dunno. It's a piece of shit?”

 

“Hmm..” Saul suspires, as if something was on the tip oh his tongue.

 

“So where we going?” Jesse asks, as he stands by the passenger door. The fresh, night dewy smell circulates his nose and it reminds him of a time not too long ago, when the grass was greener.

 

Saul rounds his car and stops before entering it – turning his body and leaning on the glossy frame. “You ever heard of the _ABQ-BBQ_?”

 

Jesse's eyes go wide, a hint of wonder glistening off his pupils. Saul loves the way his expression looks in the moonlight.

 

* * *

 

“You see that new place open by the freeway?” Jesse asks, through a mouth full of honey glazed ribs. How attractive. Saul can't help but notice how Jesse licks the sticky sauce off his fingers as he picks up another piece.

 

“The mini-golf? Yeah. I heard it's 80's themed.” Saul reaches for the bottle of mustard, busying himself and determined to not stare.

 

“We should check it out some time. You know, putt a few, scare some kids…” He flashes a shy smile that tears Saul's mind apart. Did he seriously just ask him out? Is this a date, or just two guys, chilling, laughing? Saul doesn't know what to make of it, so of course, he pokes fun at it.

 

“Jeez, kiddo, if people keep seeing us together we're gonna have to get married.” His joke has endearing intentions, but went unnoticed by Jesse, who chalks it down to him being a dick.

 

“Marry this,” Jesse bites back, flipping him off from across the table. His fingertips are polished a golden brown.

 

“Wrong finger.” Saul thinks he's clever for that one, but it just earns an eye roll from the younger man. Nevertheless, he still fixes Jesse a flirty smirk.

 

Jesse places his finished rib on the plate, attempting some sort of actual verbal exchange. “Seriously. Let me know when you're, like, free. If you want, I mean…,” he trails off, and Saul can see that Jesse is nervous; trying his best to hide his jitters. Once again, Saul is sceptical of Jesse's rehab, and he feels terrible for doubting the kid. They're both quiet for about half a minute, and Saul's blank expression and mindless handling of the mustard bottle makes Jesse's stomach drops, suddenly feeling stupid for even asking.

 

“Sundays,” Saul bleeds out.

 

“Sundays are **good,** ” Jesse parrots back, suddenly perking up again. Mr. Eager.

 

Saul squirts out a generous amount of mustard on his plate, then looks up at Jesse through his eyelashes. He notices Jesse is looking at him quite intently, half his expression soft and warm, and the other half shifting suddenly to disgust, because what the hell, Saul's a dipper.

 

“You are so weird,” Jesse hisses. An arched eyebrow signals confusion from Saul, because he has no idea what this guy's on about. “Your fries. You're a dipper.” He scrunches his nose. Saul thinks it's only a little cute.

 

“Well, excuse me, Master Pinkman. I don't go around with sauce covered appendages like sodium is healthy.” He raises his arms in defence, “I prefer a little control.”

 

“Oh my god, are you some type of health freak?” Jesse snorts.

 

“I am eating steakhouse food, so no, I wouldn't go that far to say that,” Saul says, perking up to catch the waitress' eyes as she strolls over. He gives her a friendly smile.

 

“You boys need anything? Napkins? Straws?” Jesse looks up partially; her name tag reads Marisol. She looks around the same age as him, and he notices a small tattoo of a heart just below the inside of her elbow. Dark loose curls fall over her shoulders, contrasting to the white and **pink** chequered uniform. He envies her simple life.

 

“' _Boys_ '...” Jesse mumbles low under his breath. It goes unheard by the waitress, but still warrants him a knock to the foot from Saul under the table.

 

“No, we're okay, tha–.” The words are cut off by a kick he receives back. “Thanks,” Saul eventually chokes out as she turns to leave. Eyes dart back to Jesse when the blur of a woman is at a sufficient distance. “Hey, what was that for?” Saul hushes his voice as he rubs his shin.

 

“Yo, you kicked me. Serves you right.”

 

“You shouldn't be rude to workers. Their life sucks enough,” Saul argues. “That actually kinda hurt..” A frown tugs at the corners of his mouth. And, oh no. Jesse feels a freight train of contrition smash into him for hurting the other man. He wishes he could take it back, but he can't. He stares at his hands, to his food, and back to his hands – still tacky and coloured. Why doesn't he think about things before he does them?

 

The ache dulls, and Saul senses Jesse's unease. He decides to break the silence with empty suggestions and lazy smirks. “She's cute, right? You should go talk to her.”

 

“You think she's cute?” Jesse scoffs.

 

“Well, personally, no. But uh..” The words disintegrate under Saul's tongue.

 

“She ain't my type,” the blonde man admits, because it's true. No one could understand his life at the moment, and he certainly can't expect anyone to be okay with what he does for a living. “Besides, I'm already talkin' to someone.” The words slip out, and they sound like a proverbial face palm to Jesse's ears. He bites his lip, worried about how they might sound to his colleague. He doesn't want to, but he decides to lighten it. “I don't wanna be _rude_ , now, huh?” he jokes, tipping his head forward and displaying a wry smile.

 

“Oh! Har-de-har. Get a look at this joker, Albuquerque.”

 

Jesse laughs and damn if it doesn't make Saul feel **good** about himself. They finish their meal like a civilised pair of men, with only occasional feet kicking and horrible punch lines.

 

* * *

 

“Can I stay at yours again? I mean, if that's cool with you and all.” Jesse's cheeks grow warm with blood.

 

“Uhh,” Saul stretches out. The cogs are turning in his head because it's only 10:20 and they haven't been drinking. Their meal is long finished, plates already taken away, and they both mutually decided on not wondering over to the restaurants open bar. A conversation suited the vibe of the night more than intoxication.

 

Why does Jesse want to crash on his couch? His house is perfectly fine and – oh. _Oh_. Saul worries for Jesse's mental state. _Genuinely_ worries. Out of everyone, he knows what loneliness and being dealt a short hand in life can do to someone. The lawyer is once again reminded why he's doing all of this: to make sure the kid doesn't get lost in the drugs. Sure, he doesn't have to do that personally, but there's something about Jesse's presence that's calming and exciting simultaneously. Something that makes him feel young again. The echo of Walter White reverberates off the walls of his mind and comes into focus – previously a blurred background image of the past few days, but always overhead like a bad storm.

 

Jesse winches, suddenly feeling stupid for asking. “Um, nevermind. It's cool. I didn't mean t-,” he's cut off quickly by Saul's textured voice.

 

“I'm sure the couch is exactly how you left it.”

 

“Oh. Uh, thanks man. It's just… that I haven't..,” Jesse trails off lost in thought. “Hold up, what day is it?” He pinches the bridge of his nose and draws his brows together.

 

“Monday night, kid.”

 

“Shit, I'm sorry. I forgot Badger and Skinny Pete are chillin' with me tomorrow.”

 

“Oh,” Saul sits up straighter. “Yeah, that's fine. No need to apologise. Hey, have fun.” He gives Jesse a slight smile, assuring him. There's only a hint of disappointment, but not enough to notice.

 

“Hmm, yeah. I dunno, all they wanna do is get high all the time. It's like, man, there's other things to do besides getting scatterbrained all day, yo.”

 

“Yeah? Like what?” Saul's eyes squint, awaiting on Jesse's answer.

 

He shrugs like he doesn't have an answer. “This? Going places, having fun.”

 

“You think this is fun?” Saul asks with a light chuckle, only a little shocked at Jesse's interest in dining out, and to prolong the topic.

 

“Yeah, why not?”

 

“It's just..” Saul's uncertainty is rocking back and forth in dangerous waters, like a dinghy boat drifting into a distant storm on the horizon. He considers bringing up the drug use. The rehab. Walt. 

 

“What, yo? Spit it out.”

 

“The other day when you stayed at my place, you cried, and, I don't know. It was cute. Sad, but…” Woah, hold on. Saul just called Jesse _cute_. Okay.

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“Listen, I-” His stomach drops as he attempts to explain himself, but is blocked by Jesse's alert questioning. He regrets saying that because now the younger man seems on edge.

 

“I cried? What happened!?”

 

Saul's intestines slowly crawl their way back to where they belong – glad Jesse doesn't care about the whole _cute_ thing, but now he has a new issue here. He raises his hands defensively, “Jesse, please don't let this work you up. It's fine. You fell asleep 10 minutes after it.” He quirks up a nervous smile to prove his point and ease the conversation.

 

Jesse busies himself with the hem of his shirt, determined to look anywhere but Saul's face. He shifts in his seat, slightly relaxing at the other mans selflessness. “Wow, must'a been really tipsy then, huh?”

 

“Tipsy doesn't even skim the surface. Speaking of surfaces, my driveway knows all about your 'tipsiness'.”

 

“Oh yeah, you mentioned that. Sorry,” Jesse speaks with a low tone.

 

“It's okay, Jesse. It's not your fault.”

 

“Uhh, kinda is,” he frowns.

 

“No, it's mine for letting you drink without a decent meal. A word of advice, kid: solids before liquids.”

 

“Yeah, that's **good** advice. Did I say anything? Y'know, the other night?"

 

"Uh, not much," Saul lies. He doesn't want to bring up Jesse's deceased partner and risk him breaking down again. At least his sober now. And safe.

 

"Why do you care so much?”

 

“Because you're worth caring about, Jesse!” Saul blurts out, the words, the sound vibrations already scattering and disappearing in the air around them. He can't claw them back. His walls are crumbling.

 

Saul hastily gets up and uses the excuse of needing the bathroom before Jesse could see his burning face. Water drips into the sink beneath him as the liquid cools his skin. He runs a hand down his face to wipe off any loose droplets. Gripping the edge of the ceramic fixture, he gazes at his reflection in the mirror. He takes a few deep breaths – the audible flow of air echoing off the empty tiled room – trying to calm his racing mind. Bathrooms have always been Saul's safe-haven, even when he slips up in his usual smooth and confident demeanour.

 

The suited man is only slightly aware of what he's feeling, but tucks it away under the rug in his mind to deal with later. With a sigh and a massive metaphorical sign hovering above his head that reads confusion, he heads back to the table.

 

“You ready to go? I'll take you home.” 

 

With a nod, Jesse rises and tucks his chair in. His eyes are kept low to the ground as they walk to the exit.

 

They're both silent for the entire drive; not even the radio dares to fill the empty spaces between them.

 

The absence of words are only broken as Jesse whispers, “ **Good** night, Saul,” before he exits the cadillac and walks to his front door. Jesse looks back, and Saul doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about this one. It went in a direction I wasn't planning but ok.  
> Next chapter will be short but have a very different vibe so stay tunned!


End file.
